


Treasure of the White Tower

by Camaendir



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Bloodplay, Bondage, Demons, Humiliation, M/M, Original Character(s), Rough Sex, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camaendir/pseuds/Camaendir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been several months since the conclusion to the full moon murders and the birth of Letha's child. Roman is dealing with his new upyr life, Norman has taken over the day-to-day dealings with the Institute, and neither Shelly or Peter have returned to Hemlock Grove. But new issues will arise as Pryce begins doing business with a newcomer to the town named Eadric Gold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work posted here and my first Hemlock Grove fic. Tags will be added as the story progresses. Would love to get feedback from anyone. Enjoy

Light from the rising sun shot through the whiskey glass in Roman’s hand, the honey-colored alcohol sloshing around from swinging fingertips. The rays stung his ice-blue eyes, which had grown used to the darkness of the Godfrey mansion. His mansion. Roman’s pale lips pulled into a smile at the thought.

He took a swig from his tumbler and turned away from the tall window of the billiard room. He walked out towards the kitchen, his steps echoing throughout the empty floor. His tall frame filled the doorway of the kitchen as he placed the glass on the counter next to the sink.

The refrigerator door opened with heavy clinking from the bottles inside. Steaks and beer filled the shelves to the brim. He pulled one steak free and ripped it from the plastic, throwing it in a skillet on the stove. He switched the 50s stovetop on and returned to his whiskey.

Wiping his hands on his slacks, he leaned against the counter with the whiskey under his lips. He swallowed when the skillet began sizzling loudly, the steak’s raw odor invading his senses. A shaky breath left him as his head started to pound, his stomach filling with pins.

It took only a few minutes for the slab of meat to get to that side of rare that Roman had grown to love in the past few weeks. The steak landed on the plate with a wet slap, juices slowly escaping in a dull red pool. He took the head seat at the small kitchen table and immediately tore into the meat. Juices ran down his chin and he swiped the back of his hand over it, lapping at the little streams with a long pink tongue.

A groan erupted from low in his throat, and Roman shifted in his chair. A tightness and heat grew in the base of his spine, causing him to lean forward in the wooden chair and bend over the steak. The meal lasted as many minutes as the process of cooking it. The plate glistened in the end, after Roman had tilted it and ran his tongue flat against it, every drop of steaks drippings exploding against his taste buds.

He sat in his chair, silent. His head bowed and eyes closed. Ever since Olivia’s… untimely end, the hunger inside Roman had changed. Cutting his thumb or running the razor over his tongue didn’t do it for him anymore. Release would only come with huge gashes over his chest and heavy dinners comprised of red sirloins and chicken breast still pink.

Standing up, he brought the plate and the skillet to the sink, running scalding hot water over them and washing the two by hand. His long fingers pulled the sponge over the dishes, his mind wandering to Shelley and his ritual with her. The police had given up the searches in the woods once it was apparent that the full moon murders were finished. Even at Roman’s insistence to keep looking, Sheriff Sworn gave him several excuses as to why the search would end up fruitless, all with a cold fury in his face.

Roman’s expression steeled at the thought of the sheriff. He placed the two dishes on the air rack and dried his hands, once again going for his whiskey. Looking at his watch, he saw he had about an hour to kill before the maids would arrive to do their weekly cleaning. He refused to have the servants at the estate all the time like Olivia had. Giving them two days a week was much more his pace.

Back in the billiard room, he rolled one of the pool balls in his hand, his thoughts running back to when he and Peter had decided to start their little sleuthing into the murders. 

Peter. With his long hair and unshaven face. And little black vest he seemed to always wear. Watching his transformation in those first few days of knowing him. There was a gruesome beauty to the act. Him standing there, exposed to Roman, showing him his core. His four-legged core with its black fur and bright, yellow eyes. Consuming the pieces of the boy who had just stood there. Those large eyes locked on Roman the whole time.

A shiver ran down Roman’s spine and he placed the tumbler on the side of the pool table, heading to the foyer. He grabbed his keys from the little bowl next to the front door and left the manor.  
~~

Roman sat in his car, unmoving. The shadows of the trees were wavering over him as he stared at the Rumancek mailbox. The abandoned trailer below was still covered in heavy red slurs spray-painted on all sides. Time and rain had done nothing to wash any of it away.

He pulled his cigarette pack from the dashboard compartment. Sliding a stick between his lips, he stepped out of the Jaguar and headed to the makeshift gate of the property. Gingerly opening it, he walked down the leaf-covered stairs, lighting the cigarette and taking a long drag. He exhaled the heavy smoke as he rounded the trailer.

The hammock had broken, and was now only tied to one tree. Small flowers of spring had begun to pop up through the layer of dead leaves across the property. “Gypsy killers” stood out like a wound on the front of the trailer. Roman walked up to the door and it swung open easily under his touch. The inside was the same as when he was last there with his mother. No evidence stood that anyone else had been here.

The Godfrey child leaned against the doorframe, tapping the ashes off of his cigarette outside. Slowly entering the residence, he looked around at the furniture covered with old white sheets and the thin layer of dust coating them. He gripped the sheet on the couch and threw it off, settling himself down in the center. Stubbing out the used up cigarette on his heel, he leaned back and closed his eyes.

A shuddering breath left his pale lips and he placed his hands in his lap. His thoughts ran back to the scruffy-faced boy he watched become a monster. 

“Your first real friend,” several people had said to him. Including Letha. He would grudgingly admit he did miss the banter between them and the fury in Olivia’s eyes when he would stop by. Roman grinned.

Leaning forward, he pulled another cigarette from his pack and lit it up. He blew a smoke ring and slowly ran his nails over his left arm. The long cut from the previous day stood out with a sort of pride against his pale skin.

Roman reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bronze statue. He set Ganesh on the table in front of him, pinning the gift with a fixed stare. Taking another drag from the cigarette, he gently blew smoke over Peter’s statue.

“Fucking gypsy,” he muttered to himself.

~~

It was well past midnight when Dr. Johann Pryce placed his plants back into their glass cases. He removed his long gloves and tossed them into the wastebasket. A small smirk slipped out of him as the petals on his new Foxgloves glowed lightly with their bioluminescence. 

He picked up the tape recorder from beside the case and slipped it into his lab coat. The advances he had made in the Foxgloves that day would keep him there into the morning, putting in the new data. Now there was only one more thing to do for the night.

“Now, what is it I can help you with, Mr. Gold?” He put up his usual false smile as he turned to talk to the man leaning against his conference table.

The man was tall, his lithe frame covered in a charcoal-colored suit. Easily in his early thirties, the suit he wore showed that he was not a man who spent his days doing menial labor. His fingers tapped against the table, the gold rings occasionally knocking into the wood with a heavy knock. Pushing off the table, he ran a hand through short chestnut hair.

“I ran across some of your work in a medical journal and was very impressed. My company has been studying gene-manipulation in flora as well, but your work out does us by at least ten years.” He walked up next to Pryce and bent down to look closer at the pale purple light the Foxgloves gave out. “I was wondering if you would be interested in taking up a new project.”

Pryce gave Gold a slow once over and turned to the folder on the table. Walking over, he pulled it to him with his fingertips. ‘Aconite’ was printed on the front in heavy block lettering. Pryce opened it to the first page and skimmed the data. The thought of Norman’s reaction to yet another secret project filled him with a sick glee. 

“As much as I would like to, I am sad to say that I am under contract with the Godfrey Institute. So I’ll have to decline.”

Gold straightened up and a large grin crinkled his amber eyes. “Well then, I guess I will just have to push forward with a deal for the Godfrey Institute.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was barely past noon and Norman was on his third cup of coffee. His desk was strewn with papers concerning his patients and the Institute. Taking over the Institute since Olivia’s disappearance had left him physically drained, causing him to appear several years older with heavy wrinkles.

The only good news he had received was that the company interested in purchasing his shares for the institute had backed off. And until Roman turned eighteen, when he would legally take control of the company, Norman was the CEO and the majority stockholder. So that left him with the day-to-day business, and the planning for Roman’s pre-birthday party. It was Norman’s idea, to show the board that the Institute would stay under the Godfrey hand. 

He ran a hand across his face, looking over the food and service forms for the party. It would all be easier if Roman actually assisted in the preparations. Since the Letha’s passing, Roman barely left the Godfrey estate. Norman had only been able to speak to him a handful of times, all over the phone. The only time they’d seen each other was when Roman signed the contract with Norman for his CEO position.

There came two knocks at the door and one of the orderlies came in.

“Mr. Godfrey, you have a visitor.” He stepped aside and Dr. Pryce walked in.

Norman’s jaw tightened to the point of cracking. “Thank you, Tyler. If you’ll excuse us.”

Pryce turned and watched as the orderly left, closing the door behind him. Norman was standing when Pryce was facing him again. He casually walked over to the desk and sat in the chair opposite Norman, placing his briefcase against the chair.

“What do you want, Johann?” Norman huffed out.

“I’m not here to pick a fight, Norman. I’m here to let you know about a potential new project.”

“A project? Why do you need another one? Your and your assistants are already working on three. And frankly, I don’t feel like giving you more funds for another new flower.”

“It’s nothing like that,” Pryce sighed. He pulled out a folder from his briefcase and placed it on the desk. “It’s called ‘Aconite’. It’s a medical project focusing on mental disorders.”

Norman squinted. “Really?” He grabbed the folder and flipped through it. “Bipolar disorder. Multiple personality. Obsessive-compulsive disorder. Parasomnia. Schizophrenia. You think this actually has merit to it?”

Pryce grinned. “Of course. But there is a small catch.”

Norman’s frown deepened. “What kind of a catch?”

~~

Roman lay on top of his bed, listening to the sounds of the rain hitting the windows. A cigarette dangled between his lips, the ember the only source of light in the room. Beer bottles littered the floor; a few still had beer in them. Roman played with one next to the bed, his fingers rolling it around by the lip.

Three weeks. Twenty-one days. Four hundred ninety hours. The time until his eighteenth birthday had been crowding his thoughts of late. When he takes the throne of the Godfrey Institute.

Nothing else had been bringing him joy. No pool playing. No hookers. No food or drink. No cocaine. He was just going through the motions. Not even the cutting had dulled the boredom he had grown in his solace.

He picked up the beer bottle and took a quick swig. The lukewarm liquid ran down his throat easily. Roman really had no idea why he drank beer. It had been a long time since he had been able to get drunk. His new body metabolized the alcohol much quicker. The smoke from the cigarette choking him was much more relaxing in his mind.

Finishing off the bottle, he laid it next to the bed and it rolled away, hitting the desk. With the cigarette back between his lips, he swung himself to the edge of the bed. Huffing, he got up and walked over to his dresser, grabbing his phone.

He exited his bedroom and made his way to the billiard room, collapsing on the couch. Running a hand through his hair, Roman tapped the ash off his cigarette and turned on the large television. Frankenstein popped onscreen. It was the scene where the monster was playing with the young girl. Roman sneered, but settled himself deeper in the couch.

Several minutes into the movie, Roman’s phone vibrated, signaling a call. It was Norman.

“What?”

“Good to hear from you, too, Roman. I want to talk to you about a new project.”

“Why? You’re CEO. It’s your choice to proceed or not,” Roman answered, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“It’s going to begin after your birthday, so I thought you’d rather know. That plus the project involves working with another company.” Norman sounded exhausted on the other end of the phone.

“Who? And what’s the project?”

“I’d rather talk to you in person about it. And it would be nice to go over the party pl-“

“I really don’t care. Just go ahead and okay the project and I’ll see you at the party.”

Roman ended the call and tossed the phone onto the other end of the couch. He stubbed out his cigarette and finished the movie in silence. He lit another cigarette as the credits sped across the screen. Curling up, he took a drag and waited for the next movie to be announced. It was Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Another great classic, in Roman’s opinion.

The opening credits had just ended when the doorbell rang. Roman tapped his cigarette and ignored the ring. The doorbell went off again. With a heavy sigh, Roman got off the couch and headed into the foyer. The cigarette was dangling from his lips.

“I told you,” Roman yelled as he approached the door, “I’ll see you at the fucking party.”

He yanked the door open. It wasn’t Norman. It was a boy. Roman’s age with short black hair and a good amount of scruff on his face. His swimmer’s frame was covered in a ragged black t-shirt and bleached-out jeans. He had a dark brown vest in one arm and a backpack on the other.

“What party?”

It was Peter. Peter Rumancek was standing on Roman’s doorstep.

The cigarette in Roman’s mouth was dangerously close to falling out. Peter shuffled his feet and looked past Roman.

“So are you going to invite me in?”

Roman stepped aside and followed Peter into the foyer. Peter stood there, looking over the room and the stairs. He turned and gave a small smile to Roman. Roman stepped up to Peter, and promptly punched him in the arm. Peter yelped and rubbed the sore spot.

“Ow. What was that for?” 

He suddenly had Roman’s full weight against him as Roman enveloped him in a hug.  
Roman smelled heavily of cigarettes, his cologne completely overpowered.

“I should have hit you in your fucking face,” Roman mumbled into Peter’s shoulder.

The other boy slowly wrapped his arms around Roman.

“I know.”


End file.
